


I Might Do It. Just To Do It Like It's Nothing.

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: AU's FOR YOU [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothels, M/M, Minor Violence, Pimp AU, Pimp!Mickey, Prostitute Ian, but you'll get it, its a very quick run through of how they develop, slightly dark but gets fluffy at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian was fucking his pimp. His cock was balls-deep in the guy that made his life hell, the guy who would beat the shit out of him on a daily basis. The guy who would make him sell himself just for profits. And sure it did feel good. … What the actual fuck.</p><p>AU where Mickey is a pimp and Ian works for him as a Prostitute</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Might Do It. Just To Do It Like It's Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the equalizer, and I kinda made this fic from "crew love" by Drake - so yeh, I was inspired to do this even if its dark lil, tell me what you think??!!

Ian had been at the brothel-house for almost a month now, he hadn't actually seen his pimp before but he had heard a lot about him. Lisa would say he was actually attractive, and that he had tattoos all over his knuckles that weren't so subtle. Svetlana would tell him he was a dick, someone who you didn't really want to mess with because he liked giving people a beating. Ian and 'lana had become really good friends; they would comfort eachother when customers were too fucking rough and made them wanna break, they held eachothers hand when they snorted a line of coke and most importantly they had eachothers backs.

 

On one occasion, Svetlana had come back with a black eye and two broken ribs. She looked terrified to the bone and shivered each time he caught her holding something. Ian was pissed. The fucker had not only gotten away with it, but they were making her go back to him to get more cash. Whoever the pimp was, who didn't really fucking care that she was probably raped and beaten almost to death, Ian was going to cause the most trouble he could.

 

They would give you a list of numbers, names even. They would be the holders of your customers for that night. Ian had been piled with three that night, all in which he wasn't going to call. Because he wasn't going to fuck them. If they could fuck with Svetlana then he could fuck with them.

 

It was evident that they knew because the next morning Ian was being called out to the office, the place they usually never saw when you hand your money in. Ian followed, what he thought was called Iggy, and was led towards a brown, oak door. It opened and he stepped forward, still feeling the strength that he wouldn't be putting up with women-beating customers and pimps that utterly didn't give a flying fuck.

 

“You didn't bring any money last night.” He heard a voice from behind him. It was a smaller man, jet black hair,glimmering blue eyes that Ian felt getting sidetracked into. He was around Ian's age, maybe a couple of years older, and he was fucking attractive. No doubt about that. But he looked an even bigger dick.

 

“That's because I didn't fuck anyone last night.” Ian snapped back, tracing each move the other man took. He knew he was testing the high ground but really he had nothing to lose. The way the raven-haired man's lips looked on the brim of the glass, how his suit fitted him so well that his muscular frame was pushing against his white, dress shirt , how his eyes were boring into his skin and he was too distracted to even notice.

 

“Why the fuck not? You asking for a beat down or something, I ain't afraid to kick your ass?” The brunette stood up, toothpick playing between his lips. Ian couldn't keep his eyes off the way his mouth moved – but there was no fucking chance that this guy, his pimp, was gay.There was no fucking chance he could fuck him anytime soon.

 

Ian hummed to himself, he wasn't afraid. He was brought up in Southside, ain't nothing like a beat down now and again. Pulling out his customer phone, he whipped up the three names he had been given the previous night, to sachet his genitals with. “First buyer, John luton, wouldn't really want to stick it in him due to his high assault rate and rape charge, not really my kind of thing. Second buyer, Craig revolt, sounded good until he pulled out the i'll-beat-you-while-fucking-you for fun card. Finally, the last buyer.” He dramatically gasped, looking towards his pimp who didn't seem at all impressed. “Ned Lishman, ah one of my old-time friends. If I went to him he'd spoil this whole operation, that fuck had been obsessed with me for years, so really, I did you a favor.”

 

Ian barely flinched when he expected the pimp to slam his fist onto the table, he had fucked worse and dealt with worse on the job. The brunette stepped forward, his glass out of his hand and empty, his nose was flaring and Ian was instantly drawn to the continuous clenching of his jaw.

 

“I ain't having some alien-looking fucker ruin my business, ya hear me?” Great. One fist to the face, Ian might aswell turn the other cheek once the guy swung his next fist. “I don't give a shit if you don't want to fuck them, its your job. That's what you do. You don't get to pick and choose who you go to, that’s my fucking job. So stick to yours.” Ian took the next hit, not worrying about his bust lip and slightly bleeding eyebrow.

 

“I will.” Ian spoke back, wiping the corner of his mouth that had inherited blood. “But you've gotta get rid of that batshit crazy costumer that keeps beating up Svetlana first.” He shifted in his chair, watching as the brunettes blood looked as if it was going to boil.

 

“Who?” The pimp laughed, his teeth whiter than pearls and smile nicer than anything Ian had seen. It didn't deflect the fact that this guy was a utter arsehole.

 

Ian tapped his fingers off the chair, eyes looking up to the man leaning against the large table. “The Russian.” It wasn't like Svetlana was the only Russian, but in their section everyone knew her by her Russian fight, her feisty will power and bitter tongue. So, surely, this guy had to know who he was talking about.

 

“And why the fuck would I do that, especially for a little slut like you?” The pimp tested, hands leaning on the chair Ian was sat in. For a minute Ian saw he saw a little lust glinting in the other mans eye; he did notice it, he had seen it over a million times, but this time it seemed different; like the guy was masking It away.

 

Ian knew how to bargain, his brother had taught him ways in which persuasion was fucking easy. He was a prostitute for fucks sake, persuasion is in the job application. “Because I'm the best seller, I bring back the most profits.” He knew that, only because Iggy had tried to blag him into fucking a high accountant and Ian felt he wasn't up for it.

 

The clocks ticked in the pimps brain. First of; who the fuck did this whore think he is? Secondly; Why couldn't he stop staring at those blush pink lips that have been, most likely, around hundreds of wrinkly cock. Finally he gave in, because the redheaded fuck wasn't wrong. The buyers would pay a shit load of cash just to have Ian blow them off. “Fucking fine. I hear anymore trouble out of you, you're out. Now, fuck off.” He shoved him away before anything else could happen.

 

That was it. Ian's work was done.

 

-

 

Weeks went by and things were pretty much back to normal. They all went out at night to supply themselves to the married men of Chicago then they came back and awaited some more names that they would go see the next day. After his request Svetlana had been treated much better, like a queen or some shit, she thanked him everyday and always left with a kiss to his cheek. Jesus, he never knew life as a prostitute would be so rotational, but he guessed he had put himself in that situation.

 

This day, he had been called back to the office for a different reason. Not that he wasn't making money, he wasn't making _enough_ of it. Once again he was pushed towards the oak doors, made to sit down and await a lecture. Only this time he knew that it would be the last time. Numerous events had occurred resulting in his fractured bones and a bruised face now and again. As expected, the brunette stood out against the table.

 

“Gallagher? Again. I'm getting the impression that you just want to piss me off.” The brunette slowly made his way around the table, drinking down a bottle of beer in the matter of seconds.

 

“Nah, you can't always predict what a customer will give you.” Which happened once before and it ended badly. Ian nearly died and that was why he had been transferred into this regime, he found it more okay in this one, he didn't get beat up as much. Well, not by a brunette – thug pimp anyway.

 

“I can predict that Iggy will kick your fucking ass, why have you gotta be so difficult?” The raven-haired man shook his head, eyes looking past Ian's shoulder. It was clear he was trying to not catch Ian's gaze, that fucker still had that glint too.

 

Ian bit his lip, trying to act smug was hard some days especially when your hip hurts more than it should. “What, you think selling yourself is easy?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Because seriously, this guy obviously knew nothing about Ian's situation – it was hard to even stay in a sane mental state some nights.

 

“By your profits It's pretty fucking clear its easy for you, maybe a little bit too easy.” The pimp answered back with a snap. Ian regained himself but couldn't stop by sudden;y bolting up and facing up to the smaller boy, even from a higher height he felt like the guy could probably kill him. But then again, he had nothing to lose, right?

 

“Shut the fuck up, you don't know shit.” Ian tried to win back his defence.

 

The thug laughed, his hands forcefully pushing Ian back. “Fuck off, I own you. I know more about you then you do, so shut the fuck up or I'm going to crack that pretty little face of yours.”

 

“Go ahead, its not like it fucking matters when you basically send me to some creeps house.” He awaited his slap, but he got nothing but a fiery face before him. “Go on, do it.” he pushed, knowing that the pimp had some buttons he was most likely pressing.

 

The pimp gripped at his neck, dragging him harshly against the wall by the desk. His fingers dug into his skin making it harder to breathe. “Who do you think you are, huh? Some fucking wise guy. You either go by my rules or live on the fucking streets. I could shoot you right fucking here.” He knocked Ian's head against the wall, “So, don't fucking test me.”

 

That's when everything went hectic. Where everything seemed unreal- and just what the fucking, fuck fuck. In a split second of pinning him against the wall they happened to strip from each others clothes and then Ian was straight into pounding into the small, brunette. his fucking pimp. Ian was fucking his pimp. His cock was balls-deep in the guy that made his life hell, the guy who would beat the shit out of him on a daily basis. The guy who would make him sell himself just for profits. And sure it did feel good. … What the actual fuck.

 

-

 

For weeks and weeks, they always fucked. In the office, behind the building, in alleys, anywhere they could find really. Ian would still get his profits from going out and selling himself, but it didn't seem so bad anymore. Ian had found out the guy was called Mickey, who had been a pimp for over five years. He had learnt that Mickey's dad, a prick of a father, run the whole thing and if he found them two together he would kill the both of them. Never, ever, did Mickey ever pay Ian. It was always on the house, apparently. It wasn't soon enough that Ian developed more than a fuck-crush to the pimp, he was down for. It wasn't going to happen, obviously, but he could atleast try.

 

-

 

However, shit went down hill when Ian had finally opened up. Mickey had been bent over the desk, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when Ian blurted out the words he solely wished he didn't. _I love you._ Mickey had stopped, abruptly, pushing Ian off violently, sending him to the floor.

 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, already knowing that Ian would probably be out of the door soon. Shit. What had he been thinking fucking one of his prostitutes, how stupid could he get? “Don't fucking touch me.”

 

Ian winced at the words, scrambling to pull some clothes on. “What the fuck Mickey, I didn't mean to say that-

 

“Don't you get it?” Mickey pushed his face up close to Ian's, eye glaring. “We ain't boyfriend and Girlfriend here, there is nothing between us. You're just some fucking whore who works for me, you don't mean shit.” As much as he lied and wanted to tell Ian the truth, he fucking couldn't. No way. “You're nothing but a warm mouth to me.”

 

That's when Ian shattered, worse than he had done before. He felt even more dirty than he had for the past two years he'd been going out shagging random people for lousy amounts of money.

 

-

 

“Fuck.” Ian cried as he reached the door of the brothel. After Mickey's rage he went out and drove himself into any guy that wanted it; he had managed to make over five hundred bucks, but it didn't stop the pain. The last fucker he had chosen, a bad choice, had beaten him raw while he fucked him. Ian never liked being bottom but this guy insisted in pushing his cock in him, he had tried to pull away but the firm, hard grip against his neck blocked him from any escape.

 

His mouth was clogged with blood, eyes, hair, all of his face was covered with blood and gashes. The strangulation marks against his neck stung like hell and he was still trying to recover his breathing. All he wanted to do was sleep for what seemed years, but he still had to make money, he still had to hurt just to survive.

 

As usual he made his way up to the main floor, holding his money within his palm. This time he wasn't leaving it there, he would walk right up to Mickey's desk and hand him the money himself. He would watch as the pimp would count it and he would prove that fucker wrong. Just as he planned he prodded in, this time there were more than just Mickey in the room. There were two other guys, and two glamorous girls sat talking and giggling. Oh boy, did Ian look a sight.

 

“Here's your fucking money.” Ian slammed the wad of cash against the desk, his eyes boring into Mickey's as they locked gazes. There was still some blood against the notes but Mickey was more interested in trailing his eyes over Ian's injuries, his mouth a little a gape. In one swift movement he left the room, blood still dripping from his hands.

 

-

 

Mickey couldn't forget the painful, dreaded look on Gallagher's face. His heart had swelled and was still swollen from how hurt and bloody Ian had come in as. At first he had found the fucker who did it, basically nearly killed him and made sure Ian was never sent there again. It was predictable that Ian would be angry, Mickey had pushed him so far all the long. However, this hurt way much more.

 

“Gallagher is moving to Craig's firm, they need to build up profits on the front.” Iggy had told him with a piece of paper confirming the arrangement. Mickey wanted to smash everything, kill anything, he wanted to burn the whole house down. Over the months, weeks even, he had become infatuated with Ian, had told himself over and over that he didn't feel for him, but he did. He knew that now. No pimp could go with one of his men, that was not how it worked. But Ian made everything seem so fucking easy.

 

Later on that night Ian was already gone. Mickey felt as if the firm he was running was pointless now. There was no way of secretly protecting Ian's ass in which he had done since that fucker got there. There was no way of bringing in to his office to shout at him, just so he could see him face and carve a memory into his mind. Shit. But he did know where he would be.

 

-

 

“Come on, Red. Show me what you've got.” Craig laid against the sheets, fully naked, awaiting Ian to strip down to nothing, but he couldn't move. The last time he had fucked any one he had been beaten raw, raped, and tortured in a way he didn't want to remember. If anything he was scared, for the first time in his whole fucking life. “I said, show me.”

 

Ian flinched, his whole body shivering against the sudden fear. “I don't want to.” he whispered, fingers playing with the hem of his torn hoody. Craig stood up, his hench fatigue clear as day. Ian was scared now – he knew what was going to happen, it had many times before.

 

“You will do as I fucking say.”

 

Just as Craig gripped onto Ian's head, pulling it back so he could sniff up his neck the door swung open. Ian had no idea what to expect, there was probably a gang bang waiting for him. But it was something far more surprising.

 

“You like messing with underage boys, huh?” It was Mickey. In all of his glory. He had pelted Craig straight to the head, his pistol hitting him over and over. With a couple more kicks to the squirming, naked man he took in a deep breath. “You okay Gallagher?”

 

“Mickey.” He whispered, trying to work out if it was a dream or not. In the past 24 hours he had been drugged, forced to drink, nearly raped. It was all too much. If Mickey wasn't really there than he had no idea what to do.

 

Unquestionably, Mickey moved forward, gun still in hand. “Fuck, I'm here.” He palmed Ian's cheek, unlike him, in all levels. He kissed at Ian's lips, it was the first time they had actually done it and Ian felt his whole body flush. “I'm getting you out of here. Out of all of this.” He pulled at Ian's arm and pulled him out of the room, keeping his body close to his own.

 

-

 

Nearly a year later they were living outside of town. Mickey had taken Ian away from all the shit, promising himself it wasn't as fucking gay as it sounded. Somewhere it felt right to take Ian away from it, if he could do one good – it had to be this. Ian had asked him, over and over, why Mickey had changed his mind, but all Mickey could reply was “Because I fucking felt like it, this – us – its fucking right and that's all I know. Ian had followed, no questions asked, and they finally settled in a small town house that no one from the firm could locate. Mickey did still get money from the firm, through Iggy who was the only one who actually knew about their run off, but he never let another man touch Ian again.


End file.
